


not important, only everything

by Potrix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children, Developing Relationship, Family, Fatherhood, First Kiss, Found Family, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Pining, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: The princess, Cirilla, his Child Surprise; she seems almost impossibly small cradled in Geralt’s big hands, blinking up at him with curious blue eyes.Or; Geralt isn't looking for a family, but Destiny doesn't seem to care.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 73
Kudos: 451





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/gifts).



> Yep, it's me, back with kid fic in yet another fandom. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> For [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innercinema), my inspiration, sounding board and emergency toilet paper provider, should I actually run out. ♥♥♥
> 
> As of right now, I'm thinking there will be three chapters, but don't hold me to that. There will probably be more/less. By which I mean almost definitely. Because I'm a dumbass who actually sucks at planning fics.

▫□▫ family is not an important thing, it's everything ▫□▫

Jaskier and the guardsman are still talking—yes, almost the entire royal family, no, the sea had been quiet, yes, that is highly suspicious—but Geralt is only half listening, most of his attention focused on the wiggling bundle in his arms. 

The princess, Cirilla, his Child Surprise; she seems almost impossibly small cradled in Geralt’s big hands, blinking up at him with curious blue eyes. Geralt vaguely recalls hearing the announcement about her arrival last winter and he frowns, chest feeling oddly tight. She’s not yet been in this world for even a whole year and already she’s had to endure so much. Too much. 

And now she’s his. Needing him, depending on him, even though Geralt doesn’t know the first thing about child-rearing. 

Gurgling quietly, Cirilla reaches out for Geralt’s thumb and starts pulling it towards her mouth with a determined expression on her little face. Geralt suddenly wonders how thoroughly he’d washed his hands after that ghoul incident yesterday and, wincing when it makes Cirilla let out a noise of protest, tugs his thumb out of her grip. 

“She’s probably hungry,” Jaskier muses as he leans in close to peer down at Cirilla. He wiggles his own fingers at her, smiling half-heartedly when it makes her coo. “Poor thing.” 

“There are some supplies,” the guardsman pipes up, holding out a tattered bag. Sheepishly, he adds, “It’s not much. We didn’t want to risk getting her things from the castle and being seen. As of now, word is the young princess perished along with her parents and grandmother and we’d like to keep it that way.” 

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, though it’s Jaskier who asks, “You believe someone close to the family was involved?” 

The guardsman shrugs helplessly. “We don’t know, not yet. And until we can confidently dismiss those rumours, the king believes it would be best for the princess to remain as far away from the chaos in Cintra as possible.” 

“Well,” Jaskier says, entirely unapologetic when faced with the guardsman’s glower, “Eist always was the reasonable one.” 

“She’ll be safe,” Geralt cuts in, before the guardsman has the chance to voice his disapproval. “You have my word.” 

It surprises him, how much he means it. Jaskier, though, is smiling proudly when Geralt glances over at him, as if he’d never thought to expect anything less. Geralt ducks his head and resettles Cirilla in his arms, unable to hold his gaze. 

After the guardsman takes his leave, Jaskier shoos Geralt towards the bed before picking up Cirilla’s bag to rifle through it. Geralt sits down carefully and watches, equal parts intrigued and amused, as Jaskier sorts things into piles, muttering quietly under his breath. 

“She won’t go cold, at least,” is Jaskier’s eventual verdict as he straightens back up, but he’s frowning ever so slightly. “Although a trip to the market is definitely in order. First things first, however!”

Ten months is old enough to eat certain solid foods, Jaskier informs Geralt while he’s ripping up some soft bread he’s gone downstairs to the tavern for. He dips a small piece into the mug of lukewarm milk he’d purchased along with it, then holds it against Cirilla’s lips. She purses them, then smacks them a few times before eagerly opening her mouth.

“Just like that, clever girl,” Jaskier praises, booping her on the nose. Cirilla shrieks happily and accepts another piece of bread. 

Jaskier feeds her until she starts turning her head away from the food and rubbing at her face, looking grumpy. Geralt’s arms feel strangely empty when Jaskier swoops Cirilla up, so he clenches his fists in his lap, looking closely at how Jaskier first burps her, then swaddles her in a blanket from the bag. 

He settles her in the middle of Geralt’s bed, pillows on either side of her so she won’t accidentally roll off the edge, humming a soft tune as he does so. He keeps a hand on her tummy, rubbing it in slow circles, until her eyes eventually flutter and stay closed. 

Geralt is impressed, although he’d rather bite off his own tongue than admit as much out loud. 

“I don’t think she’ll wake before I get back,” Jaskier says, picking up and shrugging on his doublet.

Geralt’s head snaps up from where he’d been looking down at Cirilla. “What.” 

“Well,” Jaskier’s tone suggests he thinks Geralt’s being a twit, something Geralt’s become unfortunately familiar with over the last few months of travelling together, “would you like to go out and purchase supplies?” 

Geralt would not. 

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Jaskier says, clearly reading as much from Geralt’s expression. He lays a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and squeezes gently, though he still looks distinctly amused. “She’s a tiny human and you’re a big, bad Witcher. You’ll be fine.”

Cirilla does not stay asleep until Jaskier gets back. She blinks awake barely half an hour after he’s left, mouth turned down and eyes watery. Geralt realises why she’s unhappy as soon as he leans over her to check on her, gagging a little in surprise at the unexpectedly pungent smell wafting off her. 

“This will stay our secret,” he tells her as he, carefully, lifts her up. Geralt takes her answering gurgle as agreement. 

Cirilla’s cloth diaper is completely soiled and there don’t seem to be any spares in the bag. Hoping that’s one of the things Jaskier’s out picking up, Geralt undresses Cirilla and carries her over to the wash bucket in the corner. 

By the time he’s done cleaning up the worst of the mess, Cirilla is whining angrily and, at least to his enhanced senses, still smells as if she’d rolled around in a stable. After a moment of consideration, Geralt calls for a bath. 

The innkeeper’s son seems startled at the sight of Geralt with a small child in his arms, but is smart enough not to comment. He does return after carrying in the last bucket of water, though, offering Geralt a piece of soap with a shy smile. 

“It’s very mild,” he explains when Geralt just looks at him, “Ma uses it on my baby brother. She also said to wait until the water’s not too hot anymore, ‘bout the little one’s body temperature.” 

Geralt grunts out a stiff, “Thank you,” and the boy grins as he scampers off again.

The bath turns out to be a good idea. Geralt leans back against the edge of the tub with Cirilla propped against him. She appears thrilled to be splashing around, waving her arms and kicking her legs, babbling excitedly. She yanks on Geralt’s hair and tries to stick his fingers into her mouth while he does his best to wash her, but is otherwise cooperative, even though she pulls a disgruntled face at him when he has to pour water over her head to wash the soap out of her hair. 

The water’s still warm once he’s done and Cirilla’s eyes start to drop again, so he gathers her closer, tucking her against his chest. 

He’ll have to get out before too long, though, otherwise she’ll grow too cool. It’s terrifying, the thought that he could harm her, or worse, without even meaning to; sometimes, Geralt forgets that humans are fragile, compared at least to Witchers, and it takes Jaskier complaining about his sore feet or grumbling stomach for Geralt to remember to find a tavern or a place to rest for the night. 

And while Cirilla’s definitely vocal, in a fashion, she can’t exactly tell him what she wants or needs. He supposes there’s ways to tell that he just doesn’t know about yet, although Jaskier certainly seems to.

There are nieces and nephews, Geralt thinks, but if there’s one thing Jaskier is reluctant to talk about, it’s his family. He’s of noble birth, that much is plainly obvious, and he’s fondly mentioned older brothers once or twice, though he clams up real quick whenever the subject of parents is brought up somehow. 

Wherever Jaskier’d learned to care for children, though, Geralt’s certainly glad he has the skills. 

As if summoned by Geralt’s thoughts, there’s a brief knock on the door before it’s pushed open and Jaskier walks in, arms laden with his purchases. “A little help, here, Geralt, if you wouldn’t—” he begins, but trails off when he spots the two of them. 

An unreadable expression flits across his face, there and gone again in a flash, and he more or less drops the bags and parcels on the nearest bed. “I’ll just. Supper. Why don’t I go and get us some supper while the two of you finish up here, yes?” 

Geralt is left staring at the door until Cirilla shifts in his hold and he decides it’s probably time to get dry.

Jaskier is back to his normal, chatty self when he gets back, filling Geralt in on what he’s bought and what it’s all for while they eat. He shows Geralt how to put a fresh diaper on Cirilla, only laughing a little at Geralt’s fumbling, and approves Geralt’s swaddling technique with a big smile and a nod.

“So,” Jaskier asks, once they’re both settled in for the night, Cirilla still fast asleep next to Geralt, “what’s the plan, here?” 

“It’ll turn colder soon.” Geralt watches Cirilla breathe, her tiny chest rising and falling quietly. “Kaer Morhen for the winter, I think, as soon as I’ve gathered enough coin for a wagon and a mule. Make it easier on Roach, if she doesn’t have to carry all three of us plus our things.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Jaskier, but when Geralt glances over at him, he’s trying hard to act nonchalant, absently fiddling with his blanket. Geralt decides not to pry and, after a moment, hears a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Tell me about it,” Jaskier murmurs, turning onto his side so he’s facing Geralt. “Your Witcher keep. What’s it like?” 

“It’s—” Geralt closes his eyes against the flood of memories; cold, pain, fear, but also camaraderie, companionship, belonging. “It’s home,” he finishes, mouth twitching up into a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft dad Geralt™

Adjusting to life on the Path with a small child in tow is not nearly as difficult as Geralt had thought it might be, although he imagines the transition would have been much worse were it not for Jaskier. 

The first few days are, somehow, the simplest yet also the most challenging. 

Geralt has enough coin set away from his last few contracts to buy them their room at the inn for the rest of the week, which gives him time to come up with an actual plan for their journey up North. Which is easier said than done, what with Cirilla being absolutely miserable, and making her foul mood known. Often and loudly. 

“She must be so terribly confused,” Jaskier muses sadly as he paces the room with Cirilla on his hip, who’s wailing in a pitch disturbingly similar to that of a banshee Geralt had come across years ago. “Poor little dove.” 

She’s clearly wondering where her parents are, and it makes something ugly twist in Geralt’s stomach whenever she looks around the room with a frown on her face, seeking out someone who won’t ever come back for her. He knows that particular feeling all too well, himself, even if the circumstances were vastly different. 

It helps that Cirilla obviously adores Jaskier. She watches, enraptured, whenever he sings to her, shrieks and giggles like mad when he blows kisses on her cheeks or belly, and generally is in a much better mood whenever he’s around. 

Geralt can sympathise. 

Eventually, they fall into a routine; during the day, Geralt will set out to go search for local contracts that allow him to be back by evening, which is when they trade off watching over Cirilla so Jaskier can go down to the tavern and perform. 

It doesn’t sit right with Geralt, that Jaskier is contributing not only his time but, now, also most of his coin. When he forces himself to bring it up with Jaskier, however, Jaskier waves the entire thing off with a shrug and a casual, “What else would I spend my earnings on, hmm?” 

Geralt can think of several things—fancy clothes, oils and bath salts, sweets, ink and parchment; all the little frivolities he used to enjoy before—but gets the impression that he’ll only get shrugged off again if he asks. 

So he doesn’t. 

Instead, whenever he’s not out on a hunt, he sets his mind to rustling up everything they’ll need during the colder months. One of the barmaids at the tavern knows of a farmer only a town over who’s selling some of his livestock, and Geralt gets lucky enough to get a young, healthy mule for an only slightly inflated price, considering how late in the season it is already. Then, in a small village he rides through on the way back from a contract, he finds a merchant offering tents and furs he swears will keep even a babe warm, for a night or two at a time. 

When they eventually set out for the trip up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt feels moderately well prepared. 

They make good progress, now that Jaskier is riding Buttercup—named without Geralt’s input, unfortunately—instead of trotting along next to Roach. Cirilla stays bundled up warmly against Jaskier’s chest, most of the time, with Jaskier talking to her softly about anything that comes to mind, and Cirilla babbling and cooing back at him.

Geralt, well. He doesn’t hate it. And if he’s smiling more often than usual, he’s lucky enough to be riding in front where no one can see it. 

It’s on one of these stretches of wilderness between towns when Jaskier does it for the first time. 

Ciri—”We might as well call her Princess of Cintra, if we keep using her full name, honestly, Geralt.”—has been fussy ever since she woke up that morning, going as far as to smack the spoon out of Jaskier’s hand when he’d tried to feed her. She keeps whining pitifully, but it’s when not even singing her favourite lullaby does any good that Jaskier decides enough is enough. 

They stop at the side of the road, and Geralt watches, slightly confused, as Jaskier unties the wrap he’s carrying Ciri in from around himself. Then he beckons Geralt closer and, with a start, Geralt realises what’s about to happen. 

“Don’t pull that face, mister,” Jaskier tsks, handing Ciri over so he can fasten the wrap around Geralt instead. “This little menace obviously needs a change of scenery, so she’s going to be riding with her Papa for a while.” 

The only reason Geralt doesn’t drop Ciri is because he freezes completely at those words. 

Jaskier seems to be right, though, because once they’re back on the road, Ciri is calmer than she’s been all morning. He laughs, loud and merrily, when Geralt says she’s probably just been shocked into silence. 

“Don’t be silly,” he laughs, pulling up next to Geralt to peer at Ciri, who’s now fast asleep with her head in the crook of Geralt’s neck, “she adores her Papa.” 

Geralt opens his mouth to protest that he’s not—not that, but closes it again when the words won’t come. Because, for all intents and purposes, he is. 

Her father. 

A father. 

If not in blood, then at least in name and intent.

And while Geralt has his faults, he is also a man of his word; he claimed Ciri, albeit unknowingly, and now she’s his.

His daughter. 

Ignoring the knowing curve of Jaskier’s mouth, Geralt buries his nose in Ciri’s hair, and clicks his tongue for Roach to go faster. 

Jaskier apparently takes Geralt's lack of a verbal response as permission, and Geralt finds himself being called Papa more and more often. It keeps making him squirm—he hasn’t done anything to deserve such a title, no matter how much he likes it—but he can’t deny the positive effect the whole thing has on the people around them. 

The tailor smells absolutely terrified from the moment Geralt steps into her shop, but when he angles himself so she can see Ciri, and mentions that he needs a warmer coat for his daughter, her whole demeanor changes. Where people would have given him a wide berth before, a mother with a small babe of her own now approaches him when she notices a grizzling Ciri, offering him advice on how to hold her more comfortably after feeding her. 

And the owner of the inn, who’d been quietly grumbling to the barkeep about throwing them out, goes so far as to bring them one of his son’s old feeding cups after watching Ciri hold her arms out toward Geralt, and Jaskier handing her over with a fond, “Papa time, is it, little darling?” 

It’s a relief, since Geralt’s found a wagonmaker in the same town who can have the kind of cart they’ll need ready for them in just a few days. 

In hindsight, with everything moving along so seamlessly, Geralt should have known something was about to go wrong. 

The day starts out well enough, with Geralt finding a miller with a drowner infestation on his land nearby. They’re dispatched quickly, and the miller offers several loafs of fresh bread along with a decent amount of coin. Geralt is in good spirits when he arrives back at the inn, as are his companions; Jaskier is dancing around their room, singing animatedly as he twirls a happily squealing Ciri around. 

He grins when Geralt raises an eyebrow at their antics, peppering kisses all over Ciri’s face as he walks over. “You look mostly dry, so I’m assuming things went well?” 

Geralt takes Ciri from him, holding her in one arm, and pulling the bag with the bread from his back. “I’d say so.” 

Jaskier takes it excitedly, smile growing as he rifles through it. He tickles Ciri’s foot, winking at her. “Your Papa is treating us right, my little love.” 

Ciri cranes her neck towards Jaskier, smiling back toothily, and chirps at him, “Papa!” 

In an instant, Jaskier’s face shuts down entirely. His smile drops away, his mouth turns down at the corners, and he pales visibly. He seems to compose himself again after a moment, though his new smile looks incredibly forced. 

“It’s getting late,” he says, not quite meeting Geralt's eyes. He deposits the bread on the table, grabs his lute from where it’s leaning against the wall, and makes for the door with quick steps. “Better not keep my adoring audience waiting.”

With that, and nothing else, he slips out of the room. 

“Bah,” Ciri says, her face scrunched up. 

Geralt hoists her up a little higher against his chest. “I don’t know, little one.” 

Ciri huffs. Geralt silently agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, go check out the absolutely For [adorable art](https://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/post/614129699648634880/not-important-only-everything-chapter-1) for the bathing scene from chapter 1 that [auripigmentum](https://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/) has posted on tumblr. ♥

**Author's Note:**

> There is also [a rebloggable version](https://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/post/614046480858333184/not-important-only-everything-chapter-1) of this on tumblr.
> 
> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


End file.
